


Little Sprouts

by PastelCryptids



Series: I Know That It's a Waste of Time/ Chasing In the Dark [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angela needs therapy please help her, Attempted Suicide, Contemplation of Suicide, F/F, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Pre-Recall, Suicidal Thoughts, Supportive girfriends, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:16:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21750607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelCryptids/pseuds/PastelCryptids
Summary: "'That’s adapting, in my opinion. I mean, you can’t get better unless you remove yourself from what’s harming you.'"
Relationships: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Series: I Know That It's a Waste of Time/ Chasing In the Dark [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567657
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	Little Sprouts

**Author's Note:**

> Or: "I came up with this fic last night in the shower"

Angela vaulted herself onto the railing on her balcony. It had been a familiar pattern for the past few weeks: Balancing herself onto the edge of the balcony, dancing between life and death as she stood.

It’s not like she particularly _wanted_ to kill herself; it was the pure adrenaline of being up there. The ground was so far away… If she were to trip, it would take quite a while to land (Would she land as gracefully as a feather?). Balancing on the railing made her feel alive, less dull, less _dead_. 

She didn’t jump, though. 

No, not yet. Fareeha was waiting to see her after work. How disappointing would it be to come home and find your wife a splatter on the ground, like a sad piece of crushed gum? 

No, Angela decided, killing herself tonight was all too inconvenient. 

And yet, here she was, still standing at the edge of the rail. Her arms stuck out as a sad attempt to balance her body. The tips of her toes ached from clenching them for so long. She sighed and looked up from the ground. The shining lights were blinding, like one-thousand little glowing eyes (Perhaps skyscrapers were large giants trapped in metal cages?). The pyramids were a faint blur in the distance, but she (Who had stared at them for so long) knew they were there. The faint holographic that made up for the Sphinx’ lack of face shimmered. 

She felt bad for that Sphinx. 

She felt bad for all the sculptures. They sat in the same spot, drowning in the praise and worship of their form centuries ago. Citizens would watch it and treat it with reverence and respect. But now? It was just an echo of what it once was. The poor Sphinx didn’t even have a face anymore. It had to use a holographic to keep somewhat of a semblance of its old self.

_How ironic,_ a voice in her head hummed.

Angela pursed her lips and slowly dropped her arms. Her body began to find equilibrium with the space around it and stayed _loosely_ balanced. 

No one had noticed her up on the roof yet. Perhaps she was just so small to them.

Fareeha had caught Angela on the roof once. Angela had attempted to jump at that time. The air began to blast at her face when all of a sudden, a hand gripped her forearm. Her shoulder was dislocated and hurt like a bitch at the time. She didn’t really care though. Angela had looked up and caught the horrified, tearful Fareeha (She wanted to say she was guilty for hurting her poor fiance, but that would require her to lie).

But Fareeha was at work. She was with Helix and wouldn’t get home until eight P.M. Fareeha couldn’t catch her jumping even if she tried.

“But the question is whether or not you’re brave enough to even try again.”

Angela looked to her side and glared at her younger self. The small eleven-year-old (Mercy, she proudly called herself) had that obnoxious look to her. The one where her annoyingly bright blue eyes would analyze Angela carefully. A small smile would play at her lips as her arched nose, crooked from one too many punches in the face, would slightly flare. Mercy sat up and flicked her loose, long ponytail behind her shoulder.

“How many times have you done this now? Five days? Two weeks? A month? Not once have you flung yourself from this damned roof.” She continued.

“Do you want me to?” Angela’s voice was barely above a hoarse whisper.

Mercy snorted and leaned her back against the rail. “It would definitely make things interesting.”

“And if I were to throw myself off, you would disappear and cease to exist.” Angela retorted.

Mercy’s smile disappeared for a moment before reappearing again. “Sure, it’d be a pity if I were to disappear forever, but it _would_ be nice to not have to hear your obnoxious voice ever again.”

“My voice is yours,” Angela muttered. “And if I annoy you so much, why not just disappear?”

“I don’t really have a choice in the matter. I’m part of you. I’m the real Mercy remember?”

“Mercy isn’t _real_. She’s a persona that Overwatch created —”

“You said that before.” Mercy interrupted.

Angela bit back a grunt and turned her vision back to the sky. Her eyes were getting dry from the wind. The silence between them became thick, like an impossible fog. Mercy began to hum mindlessly despite Angela’s hints that she wanted silence. 

Mercy never listened (She didn’t even care to) and often had a mind of her own. Angela still dreaded the day Fareeha came home to see the small brat.

The eleven-year-old ceased her humming and glanced up at Angela. “I’ve been thinking,” She began.

Angela acknowledged her for a moment before looking back at the city below her. Her feet and fingers were numb.

Mercy gave an insistent look, as though she expected Angela to answer. Angela (As much as she’d like to say she had a will of steel) conceded to the silent demand.

“About what?” She asked.

“Well, humans are a lot like plants.”

A beat of silence.

“And?” Angela said.

“We’re all just whiny plants. I mean, biologically we’re similar, but I mean more metaphorically…"

“I wasn’t asking about that.” Angela interrupted.

Mercy glared at her and cleared her throat. “Anyway, what I mean metaphorically is that we need sunlight. We desire love, attention, acceptance… All that lovey-dovey social interaction stuff. That’s part of how we survive right? We also need soil to properly put our roots in. Somewhere where we can feel safe and firm.”

“But those without sun or roots?”

“They either adapt or die. You can’t keep growing if there’s nothing to help you grow.”

“How do you adapt to something that’s bound to kill you?” Angela muttered.

(A flower cannot move its roots from stone, and sometimes, the sun just doesn’t care).

“You’d be surprised,” Mercy replied. “Have you seen those odd trees? The ones that bend and connect weirdly to repair their damage?”

“Yes…?”

“That’s adapting, in my opinion. I mean, you can’t get better unless you remove yourself from what’s harming you.”

Angela hesitantly nodded and looked back down at the ground. A small dot of a woman stood looking up at her now. Angela could just barely see a hand pressed against her ear.

Ah, the woman had called the police.

Angela gently kneeled and a scream rang in her ears. One leg landed against the balcony ground. Her knuckles turned white as she pressed her fingers firmly against the rail as her other leg landed on the ground.

Every drop of adrenaline began coursing through her veins. Her body shook fervently as she stumbled to the sliding door. She tore it open and fell to her knees with a gentle _splat_. Angela wiped her bangs from her face and looked up at the dark, empty living room. Her mind wandered to and fro as her body attempted to decide what it wanted to do next (Could she do the dishes? She could probably do a few plates before the cops came knocking at her door).

So, Angela stood on weak, noodle-like legs and began doing the dishes. The soft click of plates was screeching music to her ears. 

The upcoming knock finally arrived and Angela gently put down a cup. She wiped her still shaking hands and took a deep breath. Another rap against her door and she answered it.

A rugged man studied her quickly before clearing his throat. The man went on about suicide and its risks and possibilities, et cetera, et cetera. She heard it all before. After Brigitte, Torbjorn, and Ingrid had forced her to go to the hospital, the doctors scolded her, admonished her for doing such a dangerous thing (Were they stupid? She _purposely_ broke the car so she could _die_ from carbon poisoning).

“I understand.” She interrupted.

The officer frowned.

Angela continued. “It was just a stupid dare. I know how dangerous it was.”

The cop believed her for whatever strange reasons. What was more convincing than a dumb, just-out-of-college twenty-two-year-old doing dangerous things? She hadn’t done anything illegal, so all she could truly get was a slap on the wrist.

But it wasn’t so easy to make excuses for Fareeha.

The Egyptian woman had an astute mind. It was easy for her to notice every little falter in Angela’s words, every damned lie she sewed to comfort her fiance. It hurt to just see her deep, brown eyes flash as she doubted Angela. The way her eyebrow quivered ever so slightly.

It hurt to lie to Fareeha, but it was worth it.

(“Worth what?” Mercy once asked).

A third knock on the door. Angela opened it to a smiling yet inquisitive Fareeha. She kissed the Egyptian to the lips and released her.

“What’s with the cop walking down the hall?” Fareeha asked.

Angela hesitated. She clenched her fist and released it. Over and over, a simple pattern. A quick bite to her lip and the words formed in her mouth.

“There was a noise complaint.” She lied.

_“Oh,”_ Fareeha replied. “Of course.”

Her face did the same pattern as small twitches of muscles grew obvious. Mercy wandered into the living room and her placid expression turned sour.

_“You’re doing it again.”_ She sang. Her sour face turned into a sickening grin.

Angela’s lips formed a thin line and she released a breath of air she didn’t know she was holding. “Actually, no. There wasn’t a noise complaint.”

Fareeha cocked her head slowly. “Then what was it?”

Angela slowly looked up at Fareeha. Blue eyes met brown. “It was me. Someone thought I was going to —”

“Please don’t finish that sentence.”

A flash of cold went up Angela’s spine. Everything in her bones prompted her to flee, to escape… Because good God, she couldn’t face anger. She couldn’t face fists. (Fareeha would never hit her, Angela knew that very well, but what if one day? It would not be the first time love went sour).

“I — I’m sorry,” Angela mumbled. (Her fists clenched… In, out, in, out). “It was stupid, I shouldn’t have —”

Fareeha flung her arms out. “It’s not stupid!” Her fiance pushed past Angela muttering Arabic curses. She slammed her hands on the kitchen counter before running them through her braids. “You did it again.” She rasped.

Angela swallowed the bile running up her throat. “I know. I won’t do it again.”

“It’s not whether or not you won’t do it again, Habibti. It’s the fact that you’re even contemplating this.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing…” Angela snapped.

“Because it is!” Fareeha hiccuped as a tear found its way out of her eye. She brushed a braid from her face. “I can’t —” She bit her lip. “ _We_ can’t keep pretending that this is okay, that this is healthy.”

“You don’t have to pretend it is. I just… You shouldn’t have to scream at me about it. You scold me like a child.”

_“What else should I do?”_ Fareeha yelled. (Her voice always rose as she got more emotional, a habit that Angela still had trouble getting used to).

“I don’t know! Ignore me? Leave me?”

Fareeha walked up slowly to Angela and held up a hesitant hand. Angela took it, longing for that familiar cold Fareeha’s prosthetics gave off. 

“I’m not going to leave you just to drown in your thoughts,” Fareeha murmured. “But we can’t keep acting like this is okay.” Her fiance released a cold chuckle. “I don’t know how to state this without sounding so blunt, but you genuinely need help. I’m not enough to heal you.”

(What Angela would give if Fareeha were truly enough).

“Then what do we do?”

Fareeha ran a hand through Angela’s hair. “We find help,” She answered. “Find a therapist who you’re comfortable with. I can adjust my work hours as well, just in case.” Both of Fareeha’s hands grasped Angela’s own. “We’ll get through this… Together.”

Therapists had always made Angela’s stomach turn. She hated those prying eyes (All too familiar to a red-headed woman she used to know) studying every word she uttered. She hated how they spoke as though everything was fine in the world.

“So?” Her fiance asked.

_You can’t get better unless you remove yourself from what’s harming you._

Angela sighed and gave a weak smile. “I’ll try my best.” She promised.

Fareeha wrapped her arms tightly around Angela’s body as though she could disappear at any moment. Her face rested gently in the crook of Angela’s neck.

She’d get through this, somehow. The path to growing always lasted a long time, but Angela has already gotten a hint of sun.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sobbing y'all
> 
> Tumblr!


End file.
